


If I Hold You Tonight (I May Not Let Go)

by missgoalie75



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Prom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Lydia attend junior prom; post 3B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Hold You Tonight (I May Not Let Go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fictocriticism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictocriticism/gifts).



> My buddy Liz prompted a few things for her birthday including prom and depressing post 3B fic, so…this is a bit of both. I'll probably get to writing a properly depressing post-3B fic later, but in the mean time, there's this. Happy birthday!! Thank you to Kahlia for the lovely betaing, as usual!
> 
> Disclaimer: Title is from "I May Not Let Go" by Peter Bradley Adams.

An hour or so into prom, Stiles and Lydia are the only two of their group ( _pack_ ) sitting at a table while Scott, Kira, and Malia dance.

"You look beautiful, by the way," Stiles says, drumming his fingers on the confetti-covered tabletop.

Lydia smiles, looking down at her silver-grey dress. Originally, she was thinking of going for a peridot green color, or maybe something blue, but with Allison not being here like she was supposed to be, Lydia wanted to have a bit Allison with her, so _argent_ it is (they were _supposed_ to shop for dresses together, get ready for prom together and take pictures with their dates – Allison with Scott and Lydia with some hot guy accessory – but now it's just Lydia sitting alone in her room, having to re-do her makeup three times because she was crying too much).

(Maybe one day she'll stop wearing her grief like a mourning shroud, but not tonight.)

"Thanks. You look handsome," she says, and it’s honest, he does look good in a suit, and his tie is a nice hunter green with silver stripes that goes well with her dress, a nice coincidence.

He smiles sheepishly, adjusting his tie; he looks to be about five seconds away from loosening and undoing the top button of his shirt. "How are you?"

She takes a deep breath and shrugs a little. "Okay. I think." She runs her tongue over her bottom lip, even though she's wearing away her lipstick. "I can't really think about it," she admits.

He nods, exhaling through his nose. "Do you want to leave?"

She looks at him and figures if she says yes, he'll lose the tension in his shoulders – he still doesn't think he really deserves good things.

Coming to a decision, she stands up and faces him. "Dance with me."

He blinks at her a few times before holding back an amused snort. "You're not going to entice me by saying I have a cute little ass?"

She laughs. "That was _stupid_."

This time he laughs too. "Yeah, it was. Sorry. Even if it was true."

"Was?"

His face turns pink and he trips over his tongue. "Uh."

She shakes her head, smiling. "Come on." She offers her hand and it takes him a moment, but he gets with the program and takes her hand. He has nice ones too – they feel safe on her back and she likes holding them when she can.

She leads him to the outskirts of the group of students, bringing her arms around his shoulders – he's gotten a little taller since the last time they've done this. Stiles has also gotten surer, his hands directly and steady on her waist. The song is slow and something that's been on the radio nonstop for the past month, but she's paying attention to Stiles, who's looking around them with an odd expression on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asks, even though she feels stupid for doing so and she _hates_ that feeling, even though she's had to get used to it these past few months.

He inhales a shaky breath. "I just…didn't think I'd make it."

She clenches her jaw and steps a little closer.

"Feel like shit about it."

She looks up and his eyes are wet, distant, a little wild. "Stiles."

"I shouldn't – with – and –" he stutters and she moves her hands up so she's cupping his face, forcing him to look at her.

"Don't. You're here, and I'm grateful," she says firmly.

She's never going to totally recover from the loss of Allison, she knows that, but she also knows that she's thankful that Stiles is alive, that she didn't have to bury two friends when the dust settled.

(But –)

Stiles gently takes her hands that were still on his face and lowers them. "Can we get some air?"

She's biting back tears as she allows him to lead her outside, still holding on to one of her hands. They bypass a few chaperones and a group of guys on the basketball team standing in the hallway on their way out, pushing open the doors and she's half afraid she'll see snow.

The doors shut behind them, the parking lot silent, save for the quiet thumping of the music in the gym. She glances at Stiles, noting her hypothesis was correct – he's relaxing with each passing second.

"Do you want to get milkshakes or something?" Stiles asks, hands fiddling with the knot of his tie and the button of his shirt. She has the irrational desire to help, but clutches her dress instead.

"Sounds perfect," she says and they're off in his car.

She sends Scott a text about coming back in a few hours to pick them up, but he responds quickly enough with ' _my mom said she'd get us after her shift – don't worry! You guys okay?_ '

She looks over at Stiles, who's unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up the sleeves at a red light, his jacket long forgotten in the backseat. His left leg is jiggling and he's nodding along to a Nicki Minaj song, at least until the chorus comes on and he's singing out loud, pretty in tune, even if he's straining for the high notes.

She responds with, ' _we're fine – have a good night!_ ' and starts laughing at Stiles' sad attempt at singing along to the synthesizers.

**

Lydia orders a strawberry milkshake, Stiles orders chocolate and a side of fries, dipping them in his shake and nearly shoving them in her face to get her try them.  
"It's sweet and salty! The best combination on the planet!" he says, wiggling the fry, the milkshake dripping off the fry and onto the linoleum table.

"That's disgusting," she says, ignoring him, bringing her own milkshake straw to her mouth.

"Excuse you, but chocolate and salt go together like peanut butter and jelly. They _complement_ one another."

She lowers her milkshake and licks the strawberry from the corner of her mouth. His eyes lower to follow the movement, all guys do, but he focuses back on her face, trying to work puppy eyes, except he's pouting his mouth and it makes him look ridiculous.

She closes her eyes and laughs. "Fine." She takes the fry, the chocolate dripping onto her fingers and she pops it in her mouth. Her nose scrunches at the cold and hot, the sweet and salt, and it's just –

"This is really weird," she concludes, swallowing.

"It's an acquired taste." He brings his fingers to his mouth and licks off the chocolate. She swallows, her breath stuttering in her chest. He really has the _worst_ kind of oral fixation that stimulates her imagination.

She takes a fry from his plate and breaks it apart as a means of distraction. "You're using the phrase that people use in relation to wine or fine scotch to…milkshakes and fries."

He nods. "Yeah, pretty much. I find that phrase to be easily applicable to many things in life."

She purses her mouth to keep from laughing. "Oh, really. What else, besides food and drinks."

"Well," he starts, taking another fry and dipping it in his milkshake. "You can easily apply that to people. Some people are an _acquired taste_. Definitely. I mean you meet people and you're not sure, or you think they might be a jerk, but after being around them for a bit, maybe get used to their sense of humor, you start to like them. Voilà! People can be an acquired taste."

She raises an eyebrow at him.

He grins knowingly.

"Okay, fine," she says with a nod. " _People_ can be an acquired taste."

He leans back, triumph on his face. "I can also make an argument for class subjects."

She crosses her legs. "Well, I've got nothing better to do."

"It's going to blow your mind." He wiggles his fingers for emphasis.

"It takes a _lot_ to blow my mind," she says dryly.

She immediately thinks of sex – it's the only way anyone has ever _blown her mind_ since her peers aren't up to her mental caliber, and she's surprised that he just takes what she says as a challenge, and doesn't linger on the possible sex innuendo and plows on.

(He's probably the closest, she'll be honest.)

**

"There's a party – if you want to go," Stiles says, checking his phone after they leave the diner and get back in his car.

They should – nothing says unwinding like getting drunk at a high school party.

"Do you want to go?" she asks, embarrassed because that's what couples do and they're not – they're just –

"Lydia?"

She re-adjusts her eyes, focusing back on their conversation. _You okay?_ is written on his face and she takes a deep breath. "Do you want to watch TV or something?" she asks.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Uh, yeah, sure."

They get out of his car – she's so much better at it now, even if he still stumbles out like a dope – and he's texting, most likely his dad since what'll end up happening is they'll fall asleep on her couch and he'll wake up at two in the morning in a panic, which has happened three times, two of which were in his own house.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" she asks, locking the door behind her.

"Nah, I'm good. Wait – this TV you use, which – oh never mind –"

The stereo starts blasting and Lydia rolls her eyes. "You're an intelligent person, _how_ do you mess up the remotes _every time_?"

After five minutes of fixing what Stiles messed up, they channel surf, both having kicked off their shoes as soon as she plopped herself on the couch. He's wearing black socks, a safe choice; she half expected him and Scott to show up in mismatching socks – they both do it often enough on a daily basis.

She yawns, curling her legs into herself and shivering. She takes a folded throw blanket off the sofa arm and drapes it over them.

"Thanks," he says before yawning himself. "If you're going to fall asleep on me, can you not _press_ your head into my shoulder – I already know you're the smartest person, you don't need to physically prove it. Although, it _would_ make sense if your head weighed more than the average eight pounds to hold all the knowledge you possess." 

She deliberately rests her head on his shoulder and _presses_.

" _Owww_ – you wouldn't think it hurts, but it does," he whines.

She slaps him on the chest. "Shut up and go to sleep."

"So bossy," he mutters, but he shifts so he can bring his arm around her shoulders and bring her in close.

It doesn't take long for her to fall asleep.

**

Lydia is the one that wakes up at two in the morning with a start, feeling Stiles run a hand up and down her arm. He's watching the muted TV with hooded eyes.

"You still need sleeping pills every night," she says, her voice rough with sleep.  


He nods.

Her hand had made its way onto his stomach and she slides it across to his waist, holding him. "You've been trying to improve your sleep hygiene, right? Not being in your bed unless you're ready to sleep, no caffeine before you sleep, no –"

"I always thought that sounded dumb. _Sleep hygiene_. You think of hygiene you think of oral hygiene or something, like I have to upkeep my sleeping so it won't get dirty or something, which just brings about some _very_ interesting thoughts –"

"Stiles," she interrupts him, more awake, but not willing to move. "You can't rely on medication forever."

He clenches his jaw. "Can't really imagine being able to naturally fall asleep – even if I were to run twenty miles beforehand. It's just." He exhales sharply. "I lose control when I sleep. Having pills just…allows me to bypass the anxiety."

"You did fine the last time we did this," she says softly.

He freezes. "I didn't sleep that week."

"Liar." Pause. "Would it be easier if we were in a bed?"

"What?"

"If I were in the bed with you, would that help? I mean we were sitting on your bed watching a movie when –"

""Wouldn't – I mean – your mom? It's not…appropriate?"

She rolls her eyes. "My mom's on a date tonight – and since she hasn't come back yet, I'm assuming it's going _very_ well. Come on."

She pulls him up from the couch, leaving their shoes behind and heading up the stairs to her bedroom. At least her bed is bigger than Stiles', so they'll be able to _fit_ with some space.

She tosses him the traveling toothbrush she recently bought from her clutch and he says, "Really? _Why_?" and disappears into the bathroom, leaving her to change out of her prom dress and into pajamas. She hangs it on her closet door and stares at it for a minute, weirdly grateful that at least this dance didn't involve her having to throw her dress away afterwards due to tears and permanent blood stains.

"I'm almost offended you didn't take me with you for dress shopping – who else could've carried the _massive_ piles of dresses?"

Lydia smiles and shakes her head, turning to face him. "Girls' day. I know you must've been _so_ disappointed."

He brings a hand to his heart. "Undoubtedly."

He's untucked his shirt and unbuttoned it, revealing a white t-shirt. She considers offering him a pair of shorts or sweatpants, but they're all Jackson's old clothes, and even though they don't hold sentimental value, it would still be awkward.

"I'm going to wash my face," she says, walking past him to the bathroom.

She takes her time removing her makeup – it's as much of a ritual as putting it on. Makeup remover, then a face cleanser, and then a toner. When she spits out her toothpaste and looks in the mirror, she hates how pale and tired she looks.

When she walks back into her bedroom, Stiles is already in bed, his button shirt draped over her vanity chair along with his pants. At least she didn't need to have the awkward conversation of it being okay to take his pants off.

She crawls into bed and can't help but check out his boxer-briefs, which are striped.

He flushes. "Lucky underwear," he mutters.

She shakes her head and settles into her pillow. "Did you want to get lucky tonight?" she teases.

He laughs a little. "It wasn't so much as that as wanting to have a good time tonight. I know it's stupid that's not the point of lucky underwear, but."

"Lucky underwear is a ridiculous idea to begin with."

"Sorry, we mere mortals like to believe in them."

She hits his stomach with the back of her hand and he curls into himself, rolling onto his side toward her.

"Hurting me doesn't help with the sleeping," he complains.

She rolls onto her side to face him. It's really just a matter of getting close enough to bring an arm around him, to consider bringing her face in close and wondering how a pickup line would go over, releasing sexual tension as a means of falling asleep.

She planned on staying up until he fell asleep, but she passes out not even five minutes later.

**

"Lydia! Wake up!"

She's being shaken awake and she's _seriously_ about to beat this person with her sharpest stilettos until she remembers Stiles sleeping over and she opens her eyes – or at least tries to – the sun is bright and it hurts her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asks, a hand over her eyes for a moment before she can slowly lower it, adjusting to the light.

"I slept through the night," he says excitedly, his face right near hers and she hasn't seen him this happy in so long.

And then it registers. "Wait – you. You didn't wake up? No nightmares – nothing? For…" she checks her nightstand and the clock reads ten in the morning, "almost _eight hours_?"

Stiles laughs and his forehead is against hers and she can't help but smile, steadying herself by placing her hands on his shoulders and it's too easy how their lips come together. They’re smiling against each other and everything is in razor sharp clarity as she slips a hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

Being near him – his hand on her back and her hand on his arm, feeling his heartbeat against her own – has started to feel natural, and being away from him just made her imbalanced, _wrong_ – but _this_ – her tongue in his mouth with his hands on the exposed skin of her hip –

His lips move to her jaw to her neck and she gasps. They should talk – they should _really talk_ , but – he's happy, _she's_ happy – they can definitely make out for a minute or two longer – _oh_ –

Make that at least five.


End file.
